A Conversation That Wasn't
by actmademoiselle
Summary: "Maybe she loved – you know, really really loved, with her heart outstretched on her hand, and someone hurt her? Maybe they broke her." Hermione and Harry ponder about Bellatrix, and what may have happened to her in the past. Set in the course of the 7th book, after Ron left them.


This is my first story for Harry Potter so all reviews appreciated. :D Hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did! And I'm not sure whether to leave it as it is or continue the story so let me know whether you like it or no *wink wink*

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- I hope.. - Hermione stopped as suddenly as she started. They were sitting on the opposite beds in the tent, with Harry trying to find _any_ information they could use in yet another one of the books they hadn't checked already. It has been two weeks just the two of them, and Hermione was slowly calming down. He didn't notice wet stains on her sleeves anymore. She didn't suddenly rush out of the tent or tuck her pillow in the corner of the bed where she thought he couldn't see its dampness or turn her face away so he wouldn't notice the tears forming in her eyes. She was dealing with it by herself and he didn't try to help her. Not since that time he decided to bring it up and say _something, _anything, but before he got a chance to say more than „Hermione, I.." she looked at him with her eyes set with that_ look_ that just told him to _stop_ and _not._ For the last few days, though, she seemed a lot better and in this moment he caught himself holding his breath for what she will say. They didn't talk about it – about anything else than horcruxes and Death Eaters and Voldemort and food, really – and right now she started this sentence and these words escaped her and he sat there, motionless, after rapidly raising his head and looking at her. It was silly, to be honest. He acted like the birdwatchers when the bird becomes aware of their presence and they sit still so the bird would take them as a part of its suroundings and continue on. He knew it was stupid, and yet he didn't dare to move as she looked right into his eyes, her lips pressed in a thin line. And than she moved, shifted uncomfortably in her position, and looked at the floor. He didn't move.

-I hope - she started off again. - I hope she had someone.

That threw him off. Not that he knew exactly what she wanted to talk about before, but now he hadn't a slightest clue.

-I hope she loved someone. I guess that would make it easier.

He moved at that. He laid the book next to him, carefully marking the page he was on. Then he changed into a more comfortable position, spread his legs in front of him and took off his glasses. He wiped them with his shirt and put back on. In all this time, he still didn't figure out what she wanted to talk about.

When he lifted his eyes, they met hers and he saw uncertainty there. She hestitated for a moment before carrying on.

- Bellatrix. - she said in a way of explanation. Not that it cleared anything.

- I was just thinking about her and – her voice trembled – and I know how everyone looks at her. I know how I look at her. I mean, they all have their roles. There's Malfoy next to the Dark Lord, all proud and respected. At least, the last we saw him he was. And there's Bellatrix. She's the most dediated, cruelest, maddest. But maybe – Hermione cleared her throat. - maybe she loved someone, all this time ago.

-Oh, we know she loves someone. - Harry said. This conversation was still a mystery to him, and he wasn't quite sure if Hermione was trying to find an excuse for _Bellatrix Lestarnge_, or her weak point, or rather, he wasn't quite sure what she was doing at all. He didn't mean to cut in like that, but the words left his mouth before he managed to think about it. He was right, after all. The Death Eater was no innocent. Harry grit his teeth. No, there was no excuse for anything the craziest of the Black sisters did.

-I didn't mean _this_ way. - Hermione shook her head, a little embarassed as she started to realise what Harry was thinking. - It's just.. I – I can't believe someone could just be born bad, you know? It's-It's not possible. Maybe-maybe she was hiding from others at school or were picked at, and it's her way of standing up? Maybe she loved – you know, really really loved, with her heart outstretched on her hand, and someone hurt her? Maybe they broke her. Maybe she was young and smiling and her mind unformed and people shaped her with little let-downs, and pranks and making comparisions between the sisters. I just – I thought maybe there's more to the story, you know? - Hermione lifted her head and looked at Harry, who had a mix of emotions on his face. There was bafflement and confusion and a little bit of anger. But there was also this _thing_ in the corner of his eye that looked like understanding. Like he understood why Hermione needed to think this and that somewhere, under his hatred for that woman, he also needed to think so. He also needed to create a web of maybes, just so the world would make a little more sense.

- Anyway – Hermione cleared her throught again and looked around for a bottle of water or some juice, and was about to stand up and go for that bottle she spotted in her bag, further in the tent, when Harry whispered.

– Maybe

She looked back at him, puzzlement in her eyes.

- I think – he raised his voice, so he was no longer whispering, but his voice was still trembling a little, and was at this volume when you were already talking to others but not quite being aware of that. Harry looked just the way he was speaking, as if he didn't notice he started talking, and simply continued with his line of thought. Hermione sat back and listened to him in the quietness of their tent, his words immediately standing out. He was talking slowly, as if he tasted each word before saying it. He was visibly holding back.

-..think there was something, back in the days. Sirius told me – I'm not certain he even noticed I was in the room then – anyway, he said she got what was coming. And.. they all say, I mean, not directly, but they all say her madness wasn't born in the Azkaban, or with her first kill or first Crucio. They seem to think something else entirely triggered it. Not even Voldemort, though maybe without him she wouldn't have a chance to manifest that part of herself. But he didn't cause it, I think. Maybe..maybe not.

He grew silent. They didn't look at each other. Harry just focused his eyes on one particularly intruiging spot on the leg of his bed – he took one of the two-stories, so that Hermione could get the double to sleep in. It was a good choice, he thought now. If he wanted to be alone or give Hermione some privacy, like in the moments when she turned away to wipe her eyes with her sleeve and didn't turn back for a while, and he saw her arms shaking involuntarily, he just hopped onto the higher one and it was just him and the bed, then.

Hermione studied her toes. There were ten, but she knew that already – five at each foot. One, two, three, four, five. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. It was an utmost stupidity to count her toes, she knew that, but she didn't know what else to do. The atmosphere in the tent was thick _and_ she didn't even know why. It troubled her; the Bellatrix problem. It was also her escape – she didn't think about anything else at those times. Not even about the war, strangely. But now, when she shared it with Harry and when he shared with her that there is a slightest chance it might be true, somehow, she didn't find that comforting. The thought that someone lost was hurt in so many ways terrified her. How could you break someone that much? What do you have to do to a person to change her into _Bellatrix_?

And, funny, that's when her thoughts darted to Draco Malfoy.


End file.
